


Band of Brothers

by ranichi17



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Barricade Day, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranichi17/pseuds/ranichi17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In another life, he would have joined them, his band of brothers, forged not by blood, but by friendship.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Band of Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Barricade Day! Well, not really happy. Some parts are lifted from the Brick.
> 
> This was inspired by Tom Hooper saying that he told Aaron Tveit (Enjolras) and Hadley Fraser (the Guardsman) to act as if they were childhood friends.

He was the first to see the creature moving behind the fog. He could hear the child singing, not caring about the danger he was putting himself in, as he gathered cartridges from the bodies of men littering the base of the barricade.

 

_“On est laid à Nanterre,_

_C'est la faute à Voltaire;_

_Et bête à Palaiseau,_

_C'est la faute à Rousseau.”_

 

At last, one of the students noticed. With a jolt, he realised it was Combeferre – Félicien.

“Gavroche! Come here!” Félicien kept his voice barely above a whisper, afraid of attracting notice to the wandering child.

His men were bound to notice the child sooner or later, and they laughed as they took turns aiming at the child. The bullets flew past him, but he remained unscathed.

Félicien tried calling to the child again. The child merely turned and smiled.

He could hear shouts coming from behind the barricade. It was a voice he knew all too well, Courfeyrac’s – Aurélien’s.

One of the bullets finally struck the child. Aurélien’s shouts became more frantic, and he could hear Félicien shouting at the others to pull Aurélien back.

 

_“Je suis tombe par terre,_

_C'est la faute à Voltaire;_

_Le nez dans le ruisseau,_

_C'est la faute a . . .”_

 

The child did not finish. Another bullet from the same marksman had stopped him, and he fell on the pavement. His grand little soul had taken its flight.

Aurélien had finally managed to slip out and reach the child, but he was too late. He saw him slip back inside, and his anguished cries seemed to pierce him like the bullets. Aurélien, the soul of mirth, had given in to despair.

 

_They were playing on field outside the manor. Spring has filled it with violets. Aurélien was roaring with laughter as he chased his friends, intent on placing flower crowns atop their heads._

_After a while, he gave up on the chase, and instead dove into the grass, face first, and lay down on it._

_He had thought their friend had fallen asleep, when Aurélien had spoken up._

_“What do you think will happen to us, in the future?”_

_Félicien lay down beside their friend before he spoke._

_“I’ve always wanted to escape Auvergne and study medicine.”_

_Aurélien yawned. “That’s boring. I want to become President of the Republic. And maybe start a family, have as much children as_ _Paire_ _has. How about you, Lucien?”_

_He smiled. “Me? I just want us to remain friends forever. I don’t have to decide on my future. Paire will send me to the army, after all.”_

_“That’s nice. I hope so too,” Aurélien yawned again, and he fell asleep._

“You at the barricades listen to this,” he started to say. How he wanted to stop this senseless carnage and save his friends.

He looked straight into Enjolras’ – Alexandre’s – eyes and pleaded.

“You have no chance, no chance at all. Why throw your lives away?” Stop this, Alexandre. You don’t deserve death.

Alexandre averted his eyes. He looked like an archangel, ready to avenge his fallen comrades.

“Let us die facing our foes. Make them bleed while we can,” Alexandre started, and at once, his friends erupted into a chorus.

“Make them pay through the nose,” he heard Félicien say. Félicien must have been comforting Aurélien. He was the only one who could comfort any of them, after all.

“Make them pay for every man!” Aurélien had cried himself hoarse, and his thirst for vengeance trickled into each word.

“Let others rise to take our place, until the earth is free!”

He sighed. They had made their choice, and he had his duty.

“Cannons! Quick as you can! Look lively!”

 

_Aurélien was chasing an adamant Alexandre when he lost his footing and slipped. His trouser knee was ripped, and he had a gash on his knee which was starting to bleed._

_Aurélien’s eyes grew wide at the sight, and he cried._

_Félicien was beside Aurélien at an instant, whispering soothing words in Aurélien’s ear, as he loosened his new cravat and tied it to his friend’s knee._

They fought hand to hand, foot to foot, with pistol shots, with blows of the sword, with their fists, at a distance, close at hand, from above, from below, from everywhere, from the roofs of the houses, from the windows of the wine shop, from the cellar windows, where some had crawled. They were one against sixty.

The façade of the Corinthe, half demolished, was hideous. The window, tattooed with grapeshot, had lost glass and frame and was nothing now but a shapeless hole, tumultuously blocked with paving stones.

Aurélien was killed; Félicien, transfixed by three blows from a bayonet in the breast at the moment when he was lifting up a wounded soldier, had only time to cast a glance to heaven when he expired.

At last, his men had reached the top floor of the apartment. Only one man stood there, Alexandre. He had retreated into the corner of the room, and there, with his haughty eye, and his head held high, he stood erect and held his red flag high above his head.

“Shoot me,” Alexandre simply stated.

“It seems to me that I am about to shoot a flower,” he heard one of his men say.

 

_Alexandre was frowning, his arms crossed on his chest. Aurélien had succeeded in placing a flower crown on his head._

_“There! Now you look very much like a Greek god,” Aurélien said, grinning at his triumph._

_He and Félicien laughed. Alexandre only grew angrier at them, looking very much like he wanted to stomp away from his friends._

_“Come now, Alexandre. Surely you know Aurélien was only jesting,” Félicien said._

_He thought Alexandre was much like the violets adorning his head, beautiful and proud. And his anger made his face as purple, too._

“Take aim!” he shouted, when all at once, he heard a strong voice shout beside him, “ _Vive la République!_ I’m one of them.”

The man repeated, “ _Vive la_ _République_ _!_ ” crossed the room with a firm stride and stood beside Alexandre.

How he wanted to do the same.

Alexandre caught his eye, and smiled.

This smile was not ended when the report resounded.

The barricade was, at last, taken.

**Author's Note:**

> In the language of flowers, violets stand for daydreams.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, I also have a tumblr right [here](http://ranichi17.tumblr.com/).


End file.
